Raw Ch. 07

My hand gripped the railing tighter. This wasn't the cold I'd felt outside. This was worse.

I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I was afraid to close my eyes to try to block the familiar music lest it enhance the feeling that I was immobilized and somewhere else, not freely standing in a stranger's basement. I tried to tell myself to calm down. It didn't work.

"Becca?"

Daphne's face swam before my vision. Her frown and searching eyes indicated that she was worried. Just as soon as it had appeared, the brief feeling of paralysis was gone.

"Are you okay?"

"That song." My voice was hoarse. "I know it may sound irrational..."

Daphne squeezed my hand as we weaved through small groups of three-to-four people. "It's okay, you don't need to explain. Rest assured that he's not here. You'll stop automatically associating bad memories with things you enjoy. It'll just take time."

I nodded and tried to tune out what had been one of my favorite songs, "Sadeness" by what had been my one of my favorite artists, Enigma. Thankfully, my nemesis had only ruined that artist for me and not music entirely during sex. Malcolm had been more than happy to research and introduced me to new songs for our scenes.

When Daphne gave advice, I listened. I wasn't privy to all of the details of her past, but I did know she'd been in an abusive relationship before. A kinky one. And she'd willingly stayed until he'd decided one day he was moving on. Thankfully, she'd formed some friendships with other women "in the scene"—as they sometimes called living in the lifestyle—and they'd introduced her to the private club I'd been taken to two years ago now. The same club where she'd met Drake. If she said I'd get over my fears, I knew I would. Eventually.

We had approached the other side of the basement by now. Daphne pointed out two seats with her name on them in the first of three rows of twelve chairs set up in a semi-circular fashion. Although she chose to sit down, I used the ruse of discarding my jacket and putting it on the back of my chair to scope out the room.

The arranged chairs faced an inset into the wall the size of my new office at Malcolm's, which was about twelve feet wide by ten feet deep. Also like my office, it had probably been a small bedroom at one time. Take out a wall, and it was now what appeared to be a stage.

A single step led up to a platform about a foot from ground level. The floor looked like it had wooden boards that had been painted black, and the room itself had black walls. A table with a long, narrow box on top sat against one wall. Both were black, of course. I assumed that the ceiling was the same color, but I couldn't be sure since it was hidden by a soffit. In black. The whole thing looked like a permanent backdrop from a dismal play, complete with matching curtains framing the set.

At the center of the stage was a dulled-metal contraption with a rectangular base, a thick vertical pipe at the back, and a rectangular grid up above. The entire device reminded me of the picture we used to draw on the chalkboard at school to play the hangman game. The one difference in this case was the variety of hooks that dangled from the top grid instead of a rope noose.

Hangman 2.0. Adult Version. I stifled my giggle.

The rest of the basement was the typical man-cave. Bookshelves with sports memorabilia lined the wall by the staircase. Framed movie posters decorated the one farthest away where a couple of couches and a flatscreen TV flanked a fireplace. The wall on my left housed a bar with mirrored shelves of glasses and colorful bottles of alcohol. Just like at Malcolm's house, this would have looked like a normal lower-level when the curtains were drawn over the stage area.

Several men were imbibing at the bar. One of them glanced away from the group, the light shining off his bald head. He smiled at me when our gazes met, and I gave him a polite smile in return.

"Daphne, is this a dungeon party?"

"Yes. Put this on."

I finally sat down and noticed my friend was holding out a red, rubber bracelet. I put it on my left wrist. She pulled another one out of her purse and put it on her own wrist. They were just like the glowing ones we'd worn at the private club. Red meant we were taken.

I was going to ask her if it was really necessary, but I had glanced back at the bar again just in time to see the baldheaded man approaching. I nervously ran my hand through my hair and smiled at him again. Suddenly, he stopped, gave me a brief nod, and went back to his buddies.

The bracelet caught my eye as I lowered my hand and I groaned. "Good grief, does this thing ward off vampires and werewolves, too?"

Daphne grinned. "Only if they're kinky and a Dom."

"Of course." I shook my head and checked my watch. It showed we'd been here for a good ten minutes. "So give me the scoop on this party. Do we have to watch them have sex?"

She rested her arm on the back of her chair as she turned to face me. "I don't know about the sex. It depends on what the host has planned. I don't think it's usually advertised what the topic will be on. And speaking of our host, his name is Jesse. Malcolm trained under him for several years in Europe."

"Ah! The French connection." My interest had been piqued when Malcolm had understood the Frenchman at the bar that I'd been kidnapped from earlier this year. Malcolm had later filled me in that he'd once lived over in France for awhile. He had never gone into what he'd done over there, though. Now, I had a little more insight...and an opening to needle him on the topic.

"Yes. Drake has met him a couple of times, too. Malcolm and Jesse are still really good friends from what I've been told, but Jesse has been living abroad until recently. When Malcolm found out that he was back, he procured us invites since you missed that dungeon party."

That had been the same night we'd gone to the private club...because we'd missed the party due to having to go to the police station to press charges against Brian after I'd slugged him for molesting me in a restaurant's bathroom hallway. I only wished he'd gotten the picture then. "Well I'm glad you wanted to share your special night with me in this way."

"My pleasure." Daphne patted my knee. "While he had hoped to be with you at your first party—which is long overdue, in my opinion—Malcolm knew you'd be comfortable with me. Plus, we needed a girls' night out."

Yes, we did. I didn't want to think about the fact that it would probably be the last one for a very long time now. The lights flickered at that moment, and the din of chatter grew softer. I could hear the rustling of clothes and soft squeaking of the metal folding chairs as the rest of the guests sat down.

The bald-headed man who had chosen to avoid me stepped up onto the platform. He drew the curtains across the stage and turned to face us. "Thank you all for coming to our little soiree tonight. It's been a long time for most of you. Let me just say I'm glad we're all back here again. I do see a few new faces in the crowd. Don't be nervous. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show."

The main lights went off completely a moment later, making it very dark. I glanced down to see that my bracelet was glowing. I tucked my wrist under the edge of my shirt and leaned toward Daphne as I heard other voices whispering around us.

"Was that Jesse?"

"No. There's usually a spokesperson for these parties so the performers can get prepared both physically and mentally. But we'll see him soon. Drake said Jesse will find us afterwards to make introductions."

"That's very nice of him."

The curtains suddenly parted. Whatever lighting that was hidden by the soffit was focused on the contraption. Which was now accompanied by a woman. The man who had opened the curtains joined her. I hadn't seen or heard them sneak past us.

This had to be Jesse. He had dark, buzzed hair and was dressed all in black. His military-esque upper body stretched his T-Shirt, and tattoos peeked out from the shirtsleeves on both biceps. The lights made his tanned skin glow. His eyes sparkled. His mouth settled into a polite smile as he stared out at us. He was standing beside the contraption, and had to be only a few inches shorter than the top grid.

I gulped and slid down a little in my chair.

Less than ten feet away, everything about the man exuded dominance. His presence alone commanded attention. I wouldn't necessarily call him handsome. And I wasn't really into the overly-defined muscles of the body-builder type. Yet, something about Jesse's physicality made him attractive.

I leaned toward Daphne. "I wonder what it's like to be under his control?"

She pinched my arm. "No matter what happens tonight, remember this: you belong to Malcolm."

I sat up straighter. Her choice of words irked me a little. I wasn't an object. Something to be owned.

Drake and Daphne were married now. Did she consider herself not just his wife but also belonging to my brother as a result? His possession? And was that her natural concept of marriage, or was it onset by being in this lifestyle?

I wasn't wearing a ring, so in my mind, Malcolm laid no permanent claim to me, vanilla or otherwise. Did he feel the same? Not for the first time—although, I'd done well to suppress my thoughts and feelings on the subject of marriage—I wondered when it would be my turn. Did he think about taking that step with me? Did it include more than what we currently had besides an official license of the state?

I was still rolling those thoughts over in my head while I studied the woman beside Jesse. She was shorter than he was but only just barely. Her blonde hair was in a thick braid that almost reached her ass, and she wore a short, silky-red robe with nothing on her feet.

She had stepped up onto the base of the contraption. Our host had bound each of her wrists with a leather cuff. He was currently removing her robe, and revealed that she was wearing a nude-colored bra and thong underneath.

My first thought was that she looked like she belonged on an X-rated Victoria's Secret commercial, all tanned, curvy skin with just enough coverage to still leave a little to the imagination. Albeit very little. I heard more than a few moans, presumably from the men in the audience.

Jesse pulled a blindfold out of his back pocket and placed it over the woman's eyes. He attached a chain to each of the cuffs on her wrists and secured each chain to a hook on the grid above. Then he left her while he unpacked the box on the tabletop.

She just stood there, as if she were a trophy on display. Her face was relaxed. She didn't even fidget. So I moved my gaze to see what Jesse was doing. He set what looked like a red, taper candle on the table and chose a flogger with red and black strips from the options he had laid before him.

"Lady Juliet, are you ready to begin?" His voice was deep, gravelly. I imagined he smoked, which made him less attractive in my eyes. Which was good, because it helped ebb the building lust in my head.

"Oui, Master Jesse." Her accent made me think she was French. She sounded like a vampire—her s's pronounced as z's—and his name came out as 'Mazta Yehzee.'

"Today's safe word is red. Please repeat the safe word out loud, Lady Juliet."

"Zee zafe word eez reed, Mazta Yehzee."

I pressed a fist to my mouth and nose to stifle a snort as I thought, "Zees waz going to be an eenteresting evening."

"Very good," Jesse said. "We shall begin."

A song with a gentle beat filled the air. I held my breath, expecting him to flog her right off the bat. To my surprise, he slowly dragged the strands up the front her left leg from her toes to her hip. I got goosebumps just from watching it.

The lyrics and rhythm of the song entranced me as Jesse trailed a path up the back of her leg and then repeated the motions on the front and back of her right leg.

"This is my word. This is my way. Show me a sign. Sweep me away. This is my word. Heartbreaker. Gatekeeper. I'm feeling far away. I'm feeling right there."

I was falling in love with this song. I managed to get my iPhone out of my jacket pocket without taking my eyes off the couple. Keeping the screen as close to my shirt as possible to avoid the light disrupting anyone else, I opened the Shazam app. The words "Smoke and Mirrors, Imagine Dragons" appeared on the screen after a few seconds. I was tucking the phone back into my jacket pocket when Daphne elbowed me. So much for being discreet.

On stage, Jesse had moved to stroke the flogger across Juliet's abdomen. Her breasts. Her arms.

I saw Juliet's mouth part in what I assumed was a gasp, but that was her only evident reaction.

Throughout the entire song, Jesse just glided the strips over her skin. Slowly. Methodically.

So. Fucking. Erotic.

I licked my dry lips and fidgeted a little in my chair. Deep inside, something clenched, and my breathing grew more shallow. I could feel my heart beating faster.

Jesse switched to a riding crop as the music changed to something instrumental. I struggled not to hyperventilate as the familiar strands of another Enigma song met my ears. When Daphne's fingers curled around mine as I searched for her hand, I almost cried. I bit my lip instead, concentrating on the scene as Jesse stroked the end of the crop across Juliet's skin.

No matter what he did, her body remained stoic. Was she not affected? Or was her restraint that good?

Despite the song, I found myself imagining that crop moving over my own body. And damn it all, Jesse was the one doing it to me. It was easier to picture that when he wasn't talking.

I wondered if I could have been on stage with all of these people watching me, even blindfolded and wearing just underwear. Hell, I'd done it the one time in Malcolm's basement for the rope-bondage demonstration—and in front of my brother no less. But this? Evidently, I was into voyeurism. Not so sure about exhibitionism.

Jesse paused to retrieve something else off the table. He unhooked Juliet's bra, releasing her breasts that bounced only slightly as they settled into round orbs with quarter-sized, rose-colored areolas and stiff nipples the size of pencil erasers. Good Lord, even her breasts were perfect.

He raised the straps up her extended arms and unhooked each chain from the grid just long enough to remove the bra. When she was standing in only her thong, Jesse secured a small clamp on her left nipple. She merely pressed her lips together. Even as he looped the long chain attached to the clamp around her neck, which pulled her nipple up, raising the weight of her whole breast in the process. The other clamp was attached to her right nipple, and he adjusted the chain so that her breasts hung evenly.

My own nipples hardened. Painfully. I crossed my arms and hoped it wasn't obvious that I was rubbing them against my breasts.

When he smacked Juliet's breast with the flat, leather end of the riding crop, I jolted upright. I thought I heard a cry, but Juliet's mouth was closed. He repeated striking the underside of her breasts at least a dozen more times each. He gave her a moment of respite while he walked behind her. The song ended. When another one did not begin, it felt like the room was holding a collective breath.

I was expecting it, but I still jumped when Jesse struck the back of Juliet's legs. I could hear gasps echoing around me. The whooshing sound and resulting sharp thwack as he landed each blow.

Her knees were bent now, although she was still supporting herself with her legs. I expected that by the end of this session, she'd be hanging by her arms. I wondered how long she could last like that. Would she even get that far without saying the safe word? I knew I probably wouldn't.

At one point, Jesse turned Juliet around so that she was facing the post, her backside to us. There were pinkish marks up and down her legs. He switched to the flogger with leather strips again and alternated between stroking and whipping.

I crossed my legs and hugged my arms tighter to my chest as I watched the pink areas turned red. It was arousing. And yet a little disturbing.

"Lady Juliet, would you like to come?"

"Oui, Mazta Yehzee."

He continued to flog her for another minute. Suddenly, he yelled, "Come!"

Juliet's cry broke through the otherwise stillness of the room as she flung her head back. While she was still shaking, he turned her around again. Her legs went a little more slack as she rested her ass against the post. Her hands clenched and unclenched several times in their restraints.

When Jesse unhooked the chains from the grid, I was a little disappointed but also glad that it was all done. The scene had affected me in ways I hadn't dreamed of. It wasn't like a porno movie. They weren't acting. Hell, there hadn't even been any sex. But it still left me with the feeling like I had just witnessed that firsthand. And I couldn't find quick release being that I was in a room full of other people.

I took several shuddering deep breaths and glanced at Daphne. She was still watching Jesse and Juliet, the corner of her mouth turned up and her head tilted to the side. She looked enraptured.

A rattling sound returned my attention back to the stage. The chains had been reattached further back on the grid. Juliet, herself, had backed up to the pole on the contraption.

I sat up and crossed my legs the other way. Act II. Bring it on.

Jesse suddenly removed the clamps. Juliet's nipples looked red and swollen. She rose up on her tiptoes. Her lips parted, but she did not make an audible sound.

I wondered, if I were closer, would I be able to hear her labored breathing? I know that's what my reaction always was when Malcolm released the clamps he used on me. I tended to cry and moan, too, especially when my throbbing nipples were soothed by his hands or lips. I could be such a wuss when it came to pain.

Jesse? He did nothing to comfort his partner. In fact, he turned his back on her and toyed around with the objects on the table.

My pelvic muscles clenched again as I watched him pour a clear liquid into his hands and then rub it over her abdomen. I inhaled sharply when he covered her breasts with the liquid as well. He didn't even do it in a sensuous manner, yet I would have been writhing from finally being touched by human hands.

Juliet? She was still. Silent. Although she could not see, was she privy to what was coming next? Or was her partner just choosing what to do on a whim and she was at his mercy?

Fittingly, the sounds of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire" met my ears as Jesse picked up the red, taper candle and lit it.

I had heard of playing with candle wax, but we had never attempted it ourselves. And I had never seen it done except in videos online. I stared transfixed as the candle tipped. Sucked in my breath as the wax spilled out in slow motion.

Juliet hissed as the red liquid touched her right nipple, and the chains rattled above her as her arms belied the strength she was trying to convey. I saw her bite her lower lip as Jesse dripped wax on the swell of her breast. I swallowed with effort, trying to imagine what she must be feeling, both the pleasure and the pain. Which was greater? Which did she desire more? Or were they the same to her?

Wax was applied to her left nipple and breast in the same fashion. Down the valley between her breasts. Some of it dribbled in a tear-shape to her bellybutton before it hardened. He dotted the flat part of her chest between her neck and the top of her breasts. Then he trailed lines along the sensitive juncture of her pelvic region where it met her legs on either side of the meager fabric swatch covering her. He had to light the candle again to give her legs a similar treatment.

When he was done, her upper body looked like a tan painter's canvas with red paint splattered on it.